


Je Ne Sais Quoi

by AProcrastinatingWriter



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, The Pairing the FNDM both most AND least wants to see right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AProcrastinatingWriter/pseuds/AProcrastinatingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pyrrha Nikos long ago decided to take control of her own romantic destiny. Before she can do that, however, she has to deal with a prank gone slightly awry, Jaune's abs, art projects, an ursa the size of a city, her friends and teammates and, of course, an absolute truckload of denial. (Heavy introspection, Canon with events up to 2-5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you Pyrrha into the abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note before we start: this is my first attempt at publishing any sort of fiction in four years. You have been duly warned.
> 
> With that ominous portent out of the way, I hope you manage to enjoy this story anyway.

“If you don't get a date to the dance, I'll wear a dress.”

Well. Pyrrha supposed there was _something_ to salvage out of this situation, then.

Still, it was a cold comfort. On the level of an electric blanket in a snowstorm. That had blown out the power. In the middle of July. And also killed your pet pup-okay, that last one was exaggerating, but Pyrrha wasn't exactly feeling in a chipper mood at the moment. You could tell by the way she was sitting on the ledge of the roof, arms clutched around her bent-in knees, looking forlornly into the distance.

But she could fake it. Just like she used to do all the time back before Beacon. “Hey, Pyrrha, how's it going?” she asked herself in a cheerful and extremely sarcastic voice. “Oh pretty well, all things considered! My best friend's ignoring training to chase after Weiss Schnee, even though she's made it extremely clear that she isn't interested in him! Why, Pyrrha, that sounds absolutely terrible! Oh, just wait, it gets better! You see, I'm not going to talk to Jaune about it at all! You know why? Because I'm a piece of trash, that's why! Ugh...”

Frustrations partially spent, partially saved for a rainy day, Pyrrha flopped back on the roof, legs now hanging off its edge. People thought she was so brave, but if they noticed how she picked and chose her battles, dividing the world up into 'scary things' and 'not scary things' they'd find themselves wondering why her battle outfit didn't incorporate more yellow in its design. For all her insistence that Jaune could “talk with her about anything”, telling him how she felt about the current situation was decidedly on the 'scary' side of the fence. Which was why he was going to keep pursuing Weiss to go to that dance, and leaving Pyrrha behind. Hence, the coldest of cold comforts.

Heh. 'Cold comfort.' Weiss. Hadn't even realized the pun.

The worst part was that Pyrrha couldn't even figure out why it was bothering her so much. So he liked Weiss and was being a bit dense about it. This didn't precisely lean towards 'national news'. She'd always felt bad for them both – Jaune for being rejected so many times and Weiss for having to do the deed – but something else bothered her about the situation. Something that had been coiling up in her stomach for several weeks now. Like a snake, and it was angry at her.

Well, sitting about and moping wasn't doing anything to help the situation, she supposed. So. If she wasn't going to talk to Jaune ( _Coward_ , something in her head said), perhaps it was time to chat with herself. That is, to do so in a constructive way instead of a way involving sarcastic berating of her life and her choices, but that was sort of implied. Slowly sitting up, Pyrrha stared off into the distance, letting her thoughts fall further inwards. “You'd be surprised,” she murmured to herself, recalling the talk (for lack of a better term) she and Jaune had just had. That seemed to be at or somewhere around the core of her current bout of frustration. Maybe, she cocked her head to the side, that might be the best thing to focus on?

Not that she knew where to even start. That conversation dealt with relationships, and relationships of any kind had been foreign to Pyrrha since she was a little girl. Her fans were lovely people, at least in the abstract, but she never had any chance to know them in any sense even resembling the concrete. That was sort of the point of 'fans' – when they got to know you well enough, they suddenly became 'friends' instead, and her agents assured her she had no time for that. No, she was too busy shooting cereal commercials or making speeches about saying no to dust derivatives to go hang out at the mall with her friends, or whatever it was teenagers were _supposed_ to do in their spare time. Everything in her life was so thoroughly artificial she half-suspected she was in some sort of computer-generated series devised for people's entertainment.

But here inside Beacon? Well, that was a whole different computer-generated series, but not necessarily a better one. From the day she'd stepped off the airship, her long life of ceaseless activity had all too suddenly ceased activity. Without anyone telling her what she could and could not do, beyond a couple hours of homework every night, she had all the time in the world. Yet no one wanted to waste it with her. It seemed like the entire student body knew who she was, and among a pack of Hunters that meant something very different than it did in the outside world. Some of her peers regarded her with a sense of awe, keeping their distance . . . for what reason? Fear of transgression? Some sense of idolization? Then there were those that went in the opposite direction, finding in their envy some sort of hatred for her personally. Of course there was also had the great proportion of people who just didn't care at all, absorbed in frankly more important matters than local celebrities, even ones as accomplished in the field as Pyrrha was. But maybe worst of all were the ones who saw her as a challenge to be overcome, an addition to their street cred, someone to write their name in the history books with. Someone more legend than human.

She wasn't sure which of the two was the lonelier existence, in all honesty.

The only person who had ever sought her out for the sake of her and not her celebrity status, the only person who had refused to stay away _despite_ that status, was silly, stubborn, sappy, slightly surprising Jaune Arc. A suit of metal armor weighing him down her having spent a lifetime hiding the real Pyrrha from public view and he'd still slid past her defenses like he'd been practicing for it his whole life. And for the first time in the longest time, Pyrrha Nikos's smile felt genuine. Even now, on a night like this, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of him grinning that crooked grin of his own, welcoming her to Beacon in a way everyone else had failed to. Pyrrha had gained other friends since then – Ren, Nora, team RWBY – but Jaune had remained her closest. In many ways, her first. They were both the outcasts at Beacon, albeit for very different reasons, and that might have helped explain why they gravitated towards each other. But their staying power went a lot further than simple teammates. They shared comics, they helped each other avoid the worst of the cafeteria food, heck, they'd sparred together on multiple occasions! And whenever one of them was depressed or hurting, it was the other who grabbed them, pulled them out of their funk, and said “Hey. I'm always here for you.” In every single way that mattered, Jaune Arc was Pyrrha's confidante, her friend, and most of all, her partner.

She was scared of losing that, and terrified that she already had.

Pyrrha pressed her hands to her face, bowing her head, and took a shuddering breath. There it was. She was afraid of Jaune leaving her behind, growing up or down or maybe sideways and getting too far away from her to get back. It was petty. It was childish. It was selfish and senseless and greedy and it felt so horrible to even think about. But she couldn't help it. He was sort of all she had.

She sat there like that for a good five minutes. Then, with another, steadier breath, she composed herself, rising, looking down off the ledge for a moment, and then jumping back onto the roof at large. So. The storm inside her heart hadn't quieted, and she wasn't quite mentally ready to go to land. Still, at least her compass was working now.

 _Shame about what happens to compasses in the presence of a magnet_ , something inside her head said to her.

Before she could mope too much longer, however, Pyrrha turned her head and made an interesting discovery. Perhaps it was her power over polarity that drew her to the nearby metallic object. On the other hand, maybe it was the loud 'clank' of the door shutting quite suddenly behind somebody. With the strange appearance of a third hand, however, the door was made of metal, and so it was possible it could've been both. Whatever the case, Jaune's shield was lying propped against the wall next to the door.

Raising a cautious eyebrow, Pyrrha walked – appeared to saunter, but only appeared – over to the silver -colored plate, suspecting something weird was up and maybe sort of hoping that was exactly what it was. Something to distract her would be lovely right about now, especially if it was something she got to punch.

It turned out it wasn't something worth the effort, unless she wanted to hurt her hand, that is. It was just a shield, a familiar shield at that. That being said, it was strange that it was here at the very least. She thought Jaune had taken it back to his room. Why would he bring it back up here?

Closer inspection revealed a possible answer: there was a small piece of paper, neatly folded, taped to the shield. It was addressed to 'Pyrrha Nikos' in Jaune's distinctive handwriting. The other eyebrow raised at this point, and Pyrrha reached out to grab the piece of paper. With only the slightest trace of hesitation, Alice over the rabbit hole, she unfolded it and began to read.

**_Dear Pyrrha,_ **

**_I can't take it anymore. I'm sorry to tell you like this, but we both know I've always been kind of a coward. Sorry, can't help it._ **

**_I've always thought you were, like, super hot and pretty and stuff. I'm not really intelectual either, so I can't really write you a poem about it or anything?I know girls like that kind of thing but yeah._ **

**_This isn't going very well. It sort of never does, does it?_ **

**_I'm just gonna come out and say it. I'm in love with you, Pyrrha. I think I might want to spend the rest of my life with you. Come back to our room, and we can discuss things. I've asked the others to vacate the premesis for the night, if you catch my drift._ **

**_Sincerely, Jaune Arc_ **

Pyrrha stood there, gaping, confused, a strange fuzzy feeling in her chest, for several moments. Curiouser and curiouser. Eventually, she managed to collect a few fragments of her shattered disbelief and read the letter again. And then once more, just in case suddenly the letters would shift around and spell 'Nah, just messing with you' the third time around. But alas, the letters stayed stagnant, while the ideas bounced around in Pyrrha's brain. 'In love with you'? 'Come back to our room'? 'Super hot'? This letter was . . . this was . . .

. . . this was . . .

“This is Cardin's handiwork,” Pyrrha, who was _not_ stupid, finally declared. Well, at least now she had that something to punch she was wanting!

Grasping Jaune's shield with magnetism and drawing it quickly into her hand, Pyrrha kicked open the door and began stomping down the stairs. She couldn't believe that, that, that _neanderthal_ Cardin and his cronies, and the note crumpled in her hand. Oh, this was a new low . . . well, she supposed the anti-faunus sentiment was probably the lowest they'd ever sunk. Or maybe blackmailing Jaune that one time. But this was still pretty low!

If by some miracle Pyrrha had actually been fooled by this _absolutely see-through_ attempt at subterfuge, then there would quite possibly have been no good outcome to be had here, and she was certain Cardin and the gang knew it. If she was receptive to the message and showed up over-enthusiastically then she'd get to be heartbroken. If she went to Jaune and started talking about all the reasons why they didn't work together, well, that's just not the kind of thing a person takes well, whether they have a crush or not. And then there was the chance that Cardin somehow didn't know about Jaune's crush on Weiss. Heck, he might have even been banking on Jaune having a genuine crush on Pyrrha and her not returning the favor, and if that were the case . . . oh, ho, ho, boy. And how _dare_ they call Jaune a coward, after the stuff _they'd_ pulled?

The more she thought about it, turning the corner down the hallway to team CRDL's room, the more Pyrrha thought that maybe this really was a new low for them after all.

Reaching the door and raising her hand - a quick electromagnetic burst would be enough to fry the security lock's circuitry, and then the door's safety mechanism would cause it to open on it's own - that little something in her head spoke up once again.

_Sure this is the wisest course of action?_

Pyrrha took a breath and counted to two-and-a-half, which was just enough time for her to keep rational and recognize that the little mental voice that kept popping up sounded an awful lot like Nora, which couldn't be a good sign. Then, rolling her mental eyes a little, she followed down the path of the errant thought, just to get it over with.

_Hear you out. What if you make Cardin think his little plan succeeded? Get Jaune in on it, as a counterprank. Hitting his ego would be way more effective than hitting his knees, especially since he's been getting better at sparring and recovery lately. You figure, you and Jaune “date” for a few days, go to the dance together, and then in an overly-sappy speech about how much we two love each other, mwa-mwa, you finally reveal Cardin as the person responsible for it all in the most embarrassing way you can think of! Plus, while he's “dating” you, Jaune won't be able to make any moves on Weiss, and that just might mean he'll drop the idea entirely. It's a win-win!_

Pyrrha thought about this plan for a few moments. “That is literally the dumbest idea I have ever had.”

_Yeah, it is. You don't know what you were thinking. But now that you are thinking, breaking into Cardin's room and beating him and his team up is probably a very bad idea._

Pyrrha lowered her hand, acknowledging the point. She might get in a little trouble if she fought those bullies in the hallways, and she could deal with that, but breaking into their room to take care of things would probably get her expelled. Or possibly arrested. Maybe even both.

...how would getting arrested without getting expelled work, she wondered? Would there be video feed from the classroom to her cell, or -

She blinked, hard. Her mind was starting to wonder now that the angry adrenaline was wearing off, and she was starting to feel worse the wear for it. That was probably a sign she needed to stop overthinking things for the night, though on the other hand she didn't think it likely she actually would. Probably best for her to head back to her room for the evening. Pyrrha nodded once to herself and turned, walking with much softer footsteps back to her team's room. If she kept focusing too hard on the issues at hand, she was going to start thinking stuff like (for example), “what if I got Jaune to pretend to date me?” Or even worse, would she think something along the lines of . . .

_What if Jaune really did write this note?_

For the second time in so many minutes, Pyrrha paused, hand halfway raised to open a door, to contemplate a pretty silly thought. _No_ , she thought to herself. _Jaune can spell better than that, and that's the **least** of the reasons why that isn't true._

 _Okay_ , she responded, sounding more and more like Nora as time passed, oh Dust, _Yeah, that was probably a stupid idea too. Even the whole date-Jaune-as-prank idea involved humiliating Cardin. That would've been nice. But think about how much your friendship with Jaune means to you! Are you really gonna risk that by just assuming that he doesn't wanna be together-together with you?_

 _Jaune is interested in Weiss._ Pyrrha admonished herself. _Him having written this note doesn't make any sense! I mean, I . . ._ She sighed deeply. _I am not doing this tonight,_ she told herself sternly, swiping her ID and letting the door whoosh open. _If nothing else, I can't exactly talk to Jaune about with Nora and Ren being able to listen in ._

Jaune was alone in the room, hair dripping with the remnants of a recent shower. “Oh, hey, Pyrrha!” he said cheerfully, pulling down his tank top – black, to match the gray of his sweatpants. “Sorry about running off like that earlier. Guess I just needed some time to clear my head.”

Pyrrha blinked, and looked around the room. That was strange. Shouldn't there have been someone shouting about the dance this Sunday, and someone else trying to get her to calm down and go to sleep? Were they hiding under the bed again? No, Ren wouldn't do that, not after last time, what with the goose and all. That was traumatic. So, if then N and R in team JNPR (team JN?) weren't here, then just what was going on here? “It's fine,” Pyrrha finally said, looking back at Jaune. “It looks like you're feeling a lot better.”

Jaune, for his part, seemed not to notice her pause. It wouldn't be the first thing he didn't notice today, she supposed. “Yeah, like my dad always says, 'there's nothing like a nice long shower to get your thoughts straightened out'.” This said, he whipped a nearby towel up and began his hair. He was rather dripping, Pyrrha realized, now that she was really looking at him. “Something about the hot water helps me realize a lot of things about a lot of stuff, you know?”

Could they be waiting in the closet to jump out and surprise her? Like some sort of party? No, the closet door was open. Besides, Pyrrha couldn't think of anything worth celebrating about, even if putting it like that made life sound utterly depressing. “I suppose so. If you'll pardon the abrupt change of subject, where exactly are Ren and Nora at?” she asked Jaune a tad nervously, trying not to think about the crumpled note in her hand.

The towel suddenly stopped moving, and Jaune stood a little straighter. “Uh. . .” he said, after a bit, and moved the cloth slowly to his neck before continuing. “They went out.”

Huh. That was . . . that was certainly a coincidence, wasn't it? “They went out?” Pyrrha parroted.

“Yeah,” Jaune replied, in a perfectly natural voice, if a tad slowly. “Ren said something about, uh, some puppies in town. Nora wanted to go with, 'cause, you know Nora.” He shrugged, and the towel almost fell off of him before he managed to catch it. “Heh. Uh, yeah, don't know why they decided to do so this so late at night, but uh, they're dog-gone! Ha! You get it, because . . . um. Oh, hey, my shield!” This last part was a little too loud, pretty obviously an attempt at a distraction.

The thing of it was, Pyrrha was in such a confused mood that it pretty much worked. “Oh, yes, I did! I found it, I mean. Sorry!” She didn't know why she was apologizing, but it couldn't hurt, right? Jaune took the metal plate from her; she was so kerfuddled that she had to consciously loose it from being magnetized to her, but she didn't think Jaune noticed. She certainly hoped he didn't because if he did, he'd ask, and if he asked, she'd have to explain that between the lack of friends and Jaune's nervous behavior it was starting to look like . . .

“Eh, don't apologize. I was the one who left it behind.” He shrugged once more, successfully avoiding dropping the towel this time. “I mean, I could have sworn I took it with me, locked it up, but whatever. I've got it back now!”

 _Is 'it' your feelings about Weiss?_ Pyrrha didn't say out loud, by some miracle. Instead, after a moment to swallow her thoughts, she managed to say: “So no more footie pajamas, then?”

Which was actually maybe not better.

Jaune took it in stride, though, like a lot of things. “Yep.” He collapsed his shield. “Thought it was time for an upgrade. Don't get me wrong, they were super comfy and all, but, you know. Sorta dorky.”

“I liked them,” Pyrrha said, and meant it. “I think they suited you.”

“I'm not quite sure how to respond to that,” Jaune responded, crossing over to the closet. “Just put this here until morning . . .” he added on for his own sake. Silence reigned for several awkward moments. Pyrrha took the note between the fingers of her right hand, trying hard not to glance down at it. What was she supposed to say now? Was he waiting for her to say something specific? What if he really had written the message after all; how was she supposed to react to that? He'd already experienced so many rejections as of late, Pyrrha wasn't sure if she could handle giving him another.

Eventually, she realized that her mind was getting away from her, as she hadn't said anything in a while. So she cleared her throat and said the first thing that came to mind. “So. Lovely weather we've been having.”

“Yeah,” responded Jaune. “Reminds me of back home.”

The silence came back with an awkward vengeance. The note in Pyrrha's hand was further crumpled beneath nervous fingers. Finally, Jaune managed to break the spell. By sheer coincidence, it was at that point precisely midnight. “Hey, uh. Thanks.”

“Hmm?” Pyrrha asked, distracted. “Oh. Well, your footie pajamas were very nice-”

“Not for that,” Jaune turned to face her. “Well, not just for that, anyway. For everything, really. Taking me in, keeping my secrets, training me. Getting me out of trees.”

Despite everything, despite the situation, Pyrrha snorted at that. Then she immediately covered her mouth and blushed.

Jaune quirked one side of his mouth upwards, a reflex, before continuing. “Most of all, though, thank you for always being willing to listen to me. I know I kind of get a little needy sometimes, and sort of macho, so . . . you know. You set my head on straight again when I get all screwed up inside. Better than a hot shower.” He paused a moment. “So. Thanks. Again.”

Pyrrha stood, stunned for a moment, before managing to find her voice. “Well, of course, Jaune.” She smiled, a warm feeling filling up her heart. “You're my best friend, after all.”

And to think she'd been worried.

He nodded. “Right. That's really good to hear.”

Worried over nothing at all, it seemed. She had been worried there for a second, what with Jaune's nervous behavior and the immutable fact that they had been left, two close friends, male and female, entirely to their own devices, no adult supervision to be found wherever the eye may turn, but in hindsight the prank seemed just as obvious as it always had, defining 'always' as 'about the past ten minutes or so'. It was too clumsy a confession, artificially so, made to make certain parties look bad. It was too sudden, and too self-deprecating. It certainly didn't match Jaune's phrasing or cadence, even if it did try (badly). But here was the final piece of evidence: Jaune was happy, grateful even, to be called her ' _friend_ '. Not boyfriend, or potential love interest, but friend. Despite the trail of coincidence leading her to him, Jaune didn't write that note. That was . . . good. If Jaune was going to confess to her, this wasn't the way she wanted it to happen.

Wait, what? No. No, no, no, Pyrrha didn't want Jaune to confess his love to her at all! That wasn't what she meant. Not that Jaune wasn't a great guy, it was just -

Mr. Arc took a slow breath in through his nose, unknowingly interrupting Pyrrha's trainwreck of thought. “So, uh, I hope that you'll keep that all in mind when I say this next bit, because I've got something I need to tell you. And, uh, it's sort of tough to say, aaaaand it might be kind of big.”

 _OH SWEET OUM I WAS SO WRONG_ , thought Pyrrha, the planted idea in her brain fumbling about and knocking over all the furniture.

“I thought about our conversation on the roof while I was in the shower,” Jaune continued. Meanwhile, Pyrrha's harried brain attempted to figure out what emotion it was supposed to be feeling at the current point in time. “Which . . . you probably didn't need to know . . . but like I said, it helps me clear stuff up, think a little better. I need all the help I can get, right?” He chuckled, and Pyrrha smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Anyway, while I was thinking, I thought about, uh, about what you told me. Or, I guess I should say, what you didn't tell me.” He paused, then leaned forwards. “Are you okay?”

Was she okay? Pyrrha wasn't sure if she was okay. Was there a word for stark terror with a trace of growing suspicion mixed with a perverse sort of excitement? Probably not. She was probably worried for nothing, right? This didn't sound like a standard confession, but then again, she didn't actually have any idea what a confession was _supposed_ to sound like. Either way, tonight was shaping up to be a very large shape, and Pyrrha felt there was only so much geometry a person should be expected to handle in a single evening. Trying to un-widen her eyes and slow her racing heart, Pyrrha smiled a slow, nervous smile, which in actuality looked more like the onsert of rigor mortis. “Why do you ask?”

“You look super tired,” Jaune responded, looking startled at the realization. He placed a palm on his forehead. “No wonder you're barely talking! Oh, geeze louise, I am so sorry, Pyrrha. It wasn't _that_ important.”

“Oh, oh, it's fine,” responded Pyrrha, who was both terrified that Jaune would finish, and terrified that he wouldn't. Her sense of politeness won out in the end, which made her sense of self-preservation stomp away in a huff. “Go right ahead ,please.”

Jaune opened his mouth, finger raised in the air, and looked very ready to say something. He shortly followed that up by lightly shaking his head, spraying the immediate area around him with a fine mist. Some boys never could dry their hair properly. “Nnnope,” he said with a small smile. “It's not important, Pyrrha, really. We can talk about it some other time. Right now, you need to get some sleep.”

Pyrrha stared at Jaune for several moments before slumping, letting out a groan that she hoped would be mistaken as overacting. With slowness comparable to frozen molasses, she raised her right hand in a salute she didn't exactly feel. “As you command, oh fearless leader!”

Now it was Jaune's turn to snort, though he recovered admirably from the ordeal. “Pyrrha, you're weird when you get tired,” he said with as straight a face as he could manage. Which wasn't very straight at all, really.

“You have no idea,” Pyrrha murmured back her response, trying not to wonder what exactly had gone wrong this evening.

“But at least you're not as bad as Blake.”

“Poor girl,” Pyrrha agreed.

Jaune chuckled some more, which gradually eased itself into a yawn. “Welp,” he stretched, “Time to hit the hay. Night, Pyrrha.”

“Good night,” Pyrrha responded, then paused for thought. Before she entered the room, she'd been so certain she'd been the victim of a prank. Now, she was doubly certain of that, but no longer certain of the perpetrator. It could have been Cardin, but from the look of things tonight could also be some sort of big cosmic joke. So, he thought something was important enough to talk about her with, and Ren and Nora were gone under mysterious circumstances, and he was nervous. But the note didn't sound like him, and he was interested in Weiss. No, even now that she was almost able to get a handle on the situation, none of the puzzle pieces quite fit together for her, which meant the only thing to do was to grab more pieces and see if she could get an edge on the situation. “Actually, Jaune?”

The young man turned still holding his blankets in his hands. “What's up, Pyrrha?”

“I have something to ask you, but it's going to seem pretty random. Is that alright?”

“Shoot.”

Pyrrha thought of how to phrase things to seem less weird, but in the end decided maybe just shooting was, in fact, the way to go about this. “Well, I was wondering. How do you spell 'intellectual'?”

Jaune whistled. “Heh. Well, uh, that's actually a little bit embarrassing for me. Can't ever remember whether intellectual has one 'l' or two . . . uh, is something the matter?”

Pyrhha was standing stockade still, a slightly surprised look on her face. Over the course of several seconds, her eyes began to cross.

Then, a switch seemed to flip, and Pyrrha burst into movement, walking over to the dressers and grabbing her nightclothes. “I believe I'm going to take your father's advice and get myself a shower. Help clear my head a little. I neglected to get one after our sparring earlier this evening, anyhow.”

This said, Pyrrha exited the room, grabbing some shampoo and conditioner on her way out. She stopped just outside the door and smiled a beatific smile back at her team leader, who for his part looked even more confused than usual. “Night again, Jaune,” she waved once, and the door slid shut behind her.

About three seconds later, a frustrated scream sounded down Beacon's expansive hallways. 

* * *

 

Once she finished brushing out her hiar, Pyrrha brusquely shoved on her nightclothes and a few additional accoutrements she would shed once she reached her room, then gathered up her things and made for the egress. The shower had done its magic, the steam pressing the wrinkles out of the fabric of her thoughts, and she had managed to come to a rough sort of conclusion regards the matter. Everything – with the possible exception of certain improper spellings – was likely some sort of large coincidence, designed perhaps by whatever sadistic force was writing her computer-generated life. But the main problem was, of course, that Pyrrha was still uncertain of their friendship's tenacity, its ability to roll with punches dodge kicks, and survive strange situations. Fear of things falling apart between her and Jaune had prevented her from seeing the obvious solution.

_I should have just asked him whether or not he wrote the note._

She sighed to herself. Pyrrha had never been one much for direct confrontation. It sounded strange for a four-time winner of a moderately large tournament to say, but that wasn't really battling to her. Fighting was easy, words and feelings were . . . not. It was too easy to say the wrong thing and watch someone fall away from you. Saying 'sorry' was easier, living and let live was easier.

Letting Jaune keep going after Weiss was easier.

Pyrrha yawned, and would have knuckled her eyes had her hands not been full of various objects. She wasn't sure why she kept coming back to that. Lack of sleep probably had to do with it too. Jaune had been right to call her tired. _Very_ right. There were “how many faunuses does it take to change a lightbulb' jokes that were less tired than she was. But they were also more xenophobic than her, and Pyrrha wouldn't be tired in the morning, so she figured she had the advantage in qualities.

Ugh. That was probably the first of the signs she should of recognized: ludicrous random thoughts from right the heck out of nowhere. It was a cycle she'd get into if she started getting tired: a wandering mind to an angry mind and back again, over and over, with the smallest of triggers acting as her personal Pavlovian nightmare. Then, sooner or later, she'd start getting depressing ideas, imagining the worst-case scenarios and even worse ones yet, and that would keep keep her up for most of the rest of the evening. But at least she hadn't started talking to herself without realizing it yet. That was never fun for anyone involved.

But the point in her mind being staved off by idle chastisement was slowly creeping back in the window, and all attempts to throw her other issues behind her to slow it down were proving ineffective. At heart, Pyrrha knew what had to come next, even if she had no idea what to say no matter what the answer was. The only thing to do now that she found herself wrapped up in this sordid affair was what she had been dreading all along: engaging in open communication. It wouldn't be easy, but she would do it. First thing in the morning, once she'd had a decent night's sleep.

Now that she was standing in front of the door to her room, yet again, Pyrrha glanced down at her full arms. Second thing, she supposed, after she put her weaponry back in her locker where it belonged. In all the excitement, she had completely forgotten about school policy towards weapons and had been carrying them around with her, and pretty brazenly at that. Wonder what Jaune had thought of that as he'd stood there talking with her. She sighed, but it was something defeated rather than frustrated. If his shield could survive in the closet until morning, so could her stuff. She had had enough nonsense to deal with for one evening.

And still life was tossing her more. How on Remnant was she supposed to get the door to her room open without dropping her clothes and weapons?

Another sigh and Pyrrha decided to just give up trying. The assorted accessories fell from their place in her arms, and she withdrew her card from. . . Pyrrha closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and shook her head. Kneeling down, she rummaged around in her clothes a bit before retrieving her identification tablet. Standing up, she swiped it through the lock, which opened on the first try. Good thing, too, because she was about to use her Semblance on the cursed thing.

Staggering more than walking into the room, Pyrrha took a look around. Still no sign of Nora and Ren, but she was past caring at this point. She made careful way to the closet, and then realized she'd left her stuff back outside. Biting down another frustrated scream, she left the room once more, grabbed her clothes, used all her willpower to avoid cursing when she almost walked into the edge of Jaune's bed, practically threw her stuff in the closet, and sighed again.

She stood there for a few moments, trying to calm down. But it was no use; the switch had been flipped and she was in 'irritated' mode again. No way she was getting to sleep like this.

Growling, something that almost turned into a sob, because life wasn't fair or something, Pyrrha stomped her way over to her bed. It wasn't very far to stomp, considering how small the room was. How the staff expected people live like this, let alone sleep like this, was beyond her. Though she did suppose it was a step up from having to sleep in the wild, or out on the battlefield. Unfortunately, it was also a step down from tournament-paid stays at hotel suites. Some things about her old life she missed more than others.

Pyrrha sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, chin in hands, staring off into the middle distance. Well, the short distance, considering the size of the room. As there wasn't much to fume at, either, way, she shortly let her vision sweep over the room, lightly dusting the dark corners, feathering over the wall of pictures team JNPR had taken together, invisible in the darkness but her mind could fill in the blanks. Eventually her gaze landed with a soft 'thwump' on Jaune's messy blond head.

She stared at it for a while.

It was hard to tell next to Nora, but Jaune actually had a lot of energy stored up inside his lanky body. He was always moving in some way or another, wild gestures accompanying every word he said, ideas falling half-formed from his mouth, fidgeting in class, taking giant strides where smaller steps would do. That trend didn't seem to die down when he fell asleep. He wasn't a tossing turner, but he murmured a lot, face flickering between different expressions. Most commonly, he'd smile, something soft and small, and the top of his nose would crinkle. Pyrrha hadn't really ever paid it any attention before now. Hadn't really had the chance to look at all, actually. People's faces were fascinating, but they tended to either get creeped out or think she was flirting if she ever tried giving them a good look. Now, though, Pyrrha was emboldened by the relative privacy of the night. She turned on the lamp, thankful Jaune was a heavy sleeper, and indulged herself.

His features were softer than most men, a gentle slope beginning at the forehead and defining the rest of his construction. His eyes were on the small side and his mouth was thin, quirking up once more in his sleep, a gesture that had become familiar to Pyrrha over the term. Everything was curved, slow and steady, something more feminine than the masculine facade he always tried to uphold. He looked breakable, almost, like if something nudged him the wrong way he'd fall apart entirely. But not at all weak. Like a diamond, really. So tough, but all you'd have to do was tap the wrong spot a little too hard. It was in his jawline, maybe, a strong v-shape that nevertheless tried to support more than it should have. That was possibly Jaune's character in a nutshell, Pyrrha figured.

It was a nice face. Adaptable. Stood for something. Not like her own face, wishy-washy thing that it was.

“Gurr.” Jaune's nose crinkled. “Pyrrha . . . pass me the ketchup. . . drrfl.”

She smiled. Odd subject, to be sure, but it was nice to know he thought of her. Her gaze wandered again, eyes fluttering in slow realization of how late it was. Something else was still nagging at her, though.

She lingered on the closet door. Ah. Of course. Couldn't go to bed until she'd put the matter at hand to rest, could she? Maybe she was more determined than she gave herself credit for. Pyrrha stood and tiptoed carefully over; not likely that stomping would wake the resident heavy sleeper up now, but better safe than sorry. Rummaging one last time for the evening, Pyrrha withdrew the note before silently retreating to the circle of light next to her headboard. There, she unfolded the piece of paper slowly, with a calmer mind aware of what was coming, and reread.

Just to make certain.

She imagined his voice as she read it, his usual cadence, the almost-cracking quality that would smooth itself over whenever he became particularly certain of his suaveness. She imagined that thin mouth curling up into that easy smile, that familiar macho act he'd fall back on when he wasn't sure what to do. Her performance, in some ways, as much as it was his. She remembered the day he'd called her 'hot stuff', tried to match what he'd said then to what he seemed to be saying now.

It was close, in some ways. But so far away in others. No. This wasn't him.

_Even though the first time you read it, you wanted it to be._

Pyrrha started at the thought. After a bit, she smiled, bemused. “From grumpy to dopey, right on cue,” she murmured as softly as she could. Needed to say it aloud, make it real, but also to keep it quiet, unheard. “I think of the strangest things when I-”

 _No. Really_. She didn't start this time, but she licked her lips, glanced across to Jaune's sleeping form. _Well, some small part of me did, I suppose_. she dared not even voice her thoughts this time. _I guess, as his friend, I wanted him to move his attentions off Weiss as soon as possible for both our sakes, even if this would have been an extreme shift in a different undesirable direction. I will admit I saw his infatuation with her as a threat to our friendship, and perhaps was even on some level jealous of the attention he was giving her. Even so_ -

 _Pyrrha_ , the nagging voice interrupted once more.

She turned her head downwards, lip pinched between two teeth. She tried to think about something else.

 _What would you do if he had?_ She pressed herself further. Wouldn't let up. Sounded less like Nora, now, and more like herself, and that was what was really scary. _Honestly, what would you have done?_ She considered. Jaune murmured in his sleep, and Pyrrha had to fight off some irrational urge to stroke his hair. _I suppose I would have had to let him down easily. It would hurt him, and I'd hate to see that, but it would be for the best._

 _Oh, by the Source of All Dust!_ the idea shouted back. _You want to. You want **him**._ She looked down once more, eyes passing over the words she was beginning to memorize. _You **know** you want him_.

 _I can't risk it!_ The already-battered note crumpled further between clenched hands. _Even if I did want to, I can't risk it._ _Especially when I don't even know if I feel that way about him. I need to be certain, I mean, I can't. He's . . . Jaune is a little cocky! And he's hardly organized, and doesn't always have the best head on his shoulders, especially when he's being all macho, and . . ._ She reached out, looking for more reasons, not realizing she was trying to stave off something she wasn't even willing to acknowledge, breathing heavy, need for sleep drowning in adrenaline. _He doesn't always grasp the gravity of situations and I'm positive that he sees me as, as - just as perfect as everyone else does, thinks I can't do anything wrong._

_So he's not good enough for you, then?_

“No!” Pyrrha was so certain on the matter that she shouted her response, almost forgetting that the subject of her mental struggling was right there. Slapping a hand over her mouth for the second time that evening, she watched Jaune, slightly panicked, for any activity indicating she'd woken him. _No. Jaune is . . . Jaune is not **perfect**. Nobody is. Not him, and not me. He's my best friend, but -_

A third interruption – one would think she'd let her get a word in edgewise. _Isn't that the most important condition you have?_

Silence. Four, five seconds. Pyrrha slowly looked back up at Jaune. He looked so restless, even while he was resting. Always moving, just a little bit. She wondered how he could stand it.

 _Name someone else_ , her inner self continued. _Name anyone, anybody else at all, who has ever approached you like he has, stayed with you like he has, laughed and cried and sparred with you, **trusted** you like he has. Name someone who has ever been even half as important to you as Jaune Arc. Who has ever made you feel like you were important to them – not just as some idol to look up to but as a fellow human being. No, you're absolutely right! He is your best friend, and he's done so much for you that he doesn't even know about._

 _And I'm so terrified of a life without him,_ _I'm refusing to even think about letting him in,_ Pyrrha finished the thought. She swallowed thickly. _But even so, I really don't know what I feel about him. I don't! This is all so . . . so sudden, and the dance is coming up soon so I'm afraid I'm getting false positives, and I've got his thing with Weiss and this note to consider . . .oh, if I did have a crush on him and he was still interested in Weiss, then -_

 _Then take that time,_ the voice in her head changed tack, something softer and more encouraging. _This deserves thinking about. **He** deserves thinking about. Don't worry about the dance. Though admittedly, you may want to consider waiting until you've asked him about that note, or otherwise this may actually all be a moot point._

Pyrrha slowly brought the piece of paper up to her face, reading it over once more, something in her head reading ahead of her, already certain of the words. A few moments, the words “Sincerely, Jaune” playing in her mind, and she closed the piece of paper with, of all things, a smile. “It is all a moot point,” she said in a quiet voice. Then, with nothing much in the way of fanfare, she ripped the piece of paper into shreds and turned out the lamp.

 _Why's that?_ her own voice broke into her thoughts one last time for the evening as Pyrrha laid herself out, pulling the covers up to her chin.

She didn't answer for a little while. First, she yawned – it was way past her bedtime, after all. Spent a few moments trying to get her thoughts on the subject in some sort of recognizable order. It was only as she closed her eyes and began to drift off into sleep that Pyrrha was able to respond.

_Jaune may not have asked the question, but I think we both deserve an answer._


	2. A Short Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story with the hopes that I might get the whole thing published before episode six rolled around. That way I could have at least a few hours of fully-in-line-with-canon before everything fell apart.
> 
> Thanks to the fact that I both bit off more than I could chew with this story and encountered some unforeseen obstacles preventing me from finishing up, I didn't. Even if the latter weren't true, I think the former probably still would have been.
> 
> Anyhow, since I'm not finished but I wanted to be, I've decided to post a preview of the next chapter for you all here. You can either read it to tide you over or else wait until the whole thing is finished - you'll know when I post chapter three that chapter two has been replaced with its finished version. Either way is fine; I just hope you enjoy yourselves.

When she was six years old, Pyrrha had a princess-themed birthday party.  
  
For the whole day, she was allowed to wear the poofiest pink gown she could find and a matching bejewled tiara, because that's what princesses wore. Everyone had to address her as 'her highness' or 'your majesty', except for the teachers when they were teaching 'cause even princesses have to go to school, and the other kids because they weren't her subjects, but her mom and dad called her that for the _whole day_ and everything. She got to stay up a whole extra hour later, watch an extra half hour of TV, and she even got a big party that all her friends from school had been invited to, which was basically the whole class!  
  
Of course, just about everything that could have went wrong.  
  
First, someone ate too much cake and threw up all her over birthday presents. Then a couple of the boys started roughhousing too much and broke her family's TV, which meant she couldn't watch the Power Cat series later on that evening. Then her pretty dress and crown both got ripped up pretty badly (the tiara was actually made out of paper mache, but people weren't supposed to _know_ that) when she tried to stop the boys roughhousing any more, and finally someone accidentally went to the bathroom right in their pants. By the end of it all, Pyrrha had almost cried twice, and she was absolutely certain that this was the worst day ever.  
  
Then the King Taijitu showed up.  
  
It was just a baby one, but it was still a pretty big snake, and it looked like it wanted to eat a lot more than Pyrrha's remaining birthday cake. That would have been bad enough on its own, but wanting to eat her and her friends too was just _wrong_!  
  
While her mom and dad tried to herd her classmates into the house (with about as much success as they'd had controlling the lot of them for the rest of the party), Pyrrha stood, entranced, locked in some sort of reverse snake charmer routine. She couldn't say after the fact what exactly was running through her mind as she stared at those glinting fangs. Was it fear? Fascination? Maybe even apathy towards the situation? There was no way of telling for sure, but over the years Pyrrha had formed a theory.  
  
She had been _angry_. How dare this thing without a soul, this destroyer of men, this big bad beastie from the deep dark forest come here, uninvited, and try to ruin her party? This was supposed to be her special day, her chance to be a princess, and this snake just thought he could barge in like this and eat everybody?  
  
The crux of this theory was that Pyrrha had been interrupted from staring at the snake by her mother shouting at her behind her, something like “Get away from there!” When her mom shouted that, she looked back, and saw her dad running towards her, ready to scoop her up and rescue her. Just like she was a princess. And she'd had a realization.  
  
Pyrrha didn't _want_ to be a princess anymore. She didn't _want_ to be rescued.  
  
She'd had a very bad day, and she _wanted_ to hurt the snake.  
  
And so, with her parents watching on in horror and her classmates watching on in awe, Pyrrha picked up a nearby stick and charged at the hissing fiend before her as fast as her poofy dress would allow. She used the remains of her paper tiara to gag it, thwacked it repeatedly all over its body with the stick, and eventually found someplace soft enough that she was able to thrust her wooden weapon in for the finishing blow before standing, triumphant and smiling, over its corpse. That was the story of how, at six years old, Pyrrha killed her first Grimm.  
  
Its second head proceeded to bite her on the ankle before it died and she had to go to the hospital, but it was a start.  
  
It was the start of a lot of things, actually.  
  
For one thing, it was the start of Pyrrha's interest in being a Huntress. Her parents had been less than supportive – possibly she should have waited until after she got out of the hospital before she told them – but they'd warmed to the idea in time, especially when Pyrrha gave them “the look”, which consisted primarily of the most adorable little puppy-dog eyes you ever did see. The idea behind the sudden shift, according to Pyrrha's six-year-old mind, was that being a princess meant that you had to wait for everything. You had to wait for people to fix themselves, or to listen to what you wanted, or to be rescued when you were in trouble. Huntresses, on the other hand, didn't have to wait for anything or anybody.  
  
It was also the start of Pyrrha's interest in planning her own birthday parties, but that's a tidbit for another story.  
  
Over time, Pyrrha's prejudices against princesses diminished into nothing – she'd met several of them in the course of her life and most of them seemed like very nice people. Certainly, Princess Lerious Bor, leader of team BRLS, wasn't in any way waiting for anybody to rescue her from danger. But the sentiment behind the decision remained: Pyrrha did not enjoy waiting for things to happen to her. She preferred to take an active role in deciding the course of her own life, even if that meant occasionally being stabbed through the leg with swords or claws or very harsh criticisms.  
  
The irony, of course, was that her decision to be a Huntress had led to her whole life being committed to schedules for the past four or six years, if not longer, It was a depressing thought, and perhaps the aspect of her old life she was most grateful to leave behind when she came to Beacon Academy. Still, even back in the days of slimy agents and Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes (and she wasn't sure which was worse), there were some things she was able to decide for herself. Whether or not to take certain sponsorships, what to do on her rare days off, and who she let herself be in contact with.  
  
As an extension of that last one, she was also allowed to choose whom she dated.

* * *

  
“So who do you think you're gonna go to the dance with?”  
  
Pyrrha tried not to groan as she squeezed past the pair of chatting faunus, sending a casual “sorry!” back after her – that was third conversation along those same lines she'd heard, and she hadn't even reached the first class of the day yet. Technically, she already should have reached it by now, as a quick glance at her tablet revealed. Looks like she had about two minutes until her first class of the day started and the rate of passing scenery told her it was going to take about four to get there, but then again that was considering crowds, so maybe she could make it after all? Anyhow, whether she was supposed to be there at the current point in time didn't play to the reality of the situation - she'd overslept by a wide margin, having to neglect a few matters of personal hygiene in order to get to class at something resembling 'on time'.  
  
Maybe a little less spent staring at Jaune next time she got tired, she figured.  
  
Pyrrha faltered at that thought, almost falling over. She took the opportunity to look around, less concerned with how she'd tripped and more with what she'd just thought, as if someone might have somehow heard her private musings. She wasn't sure what to think about the things she'd contemplated just a few hours earlier – was that girl even her? She hadn't been _that_ sleep-deprived, had she?  
  
Late last night seemed so foreign it was like a whole other world entirely – someplace hidden, where she suddenly didn't have to worry about things like how early she needed to get up for class tomorrow or what school dances were. Someplace secret, where the darkness seemed to stretch forever, where Pyrrha felt a little more freely and thought nonsense things she normally never would. Like about the shape of Jaune's face, for instance.  
  
That last stray thought jolted her from her musing, and Pyrrha blushed before breaking out into a mad run. _Really_ hoping no one around had a Semblance that let them read minds. Hearing about her watching Jaune was bad enough, but specifically the shape of his face? Someone who listened in to her inner monologue for a while recently could easily have come away with the wrong impression about her feelings for the boy.  
  
She knew. _She_ had been listening in to her inner monologue for a long time now, and now she'd almost gotten the wrong idea, herself.  
  
She grit her teeth. _Think about that later,_ she berated herself, pulling out her tablet and checking the time. _Right now you need to get to class._ Less than a minute to get there. She wasn't going to make it. Unless . . .  
  
Skidding to a stop once more and panting heavily (these starts and stops were slowly getting to her), Pyrrha pulled her shield off of her back; she still hadn't had time to put it away properly. She looked at it for a few moments before glancing around once more, now _decidedly_ concerned with whether or not someone might see her. Not sensing anyone nearby, Pyrrha bent over, placed the shield on the ground, and stepped gingerly upon it. She looked forward once more. Yep, it was a straight shot to her destination, and her class was the second door on the right, Then, sticking her tongue out of her mouth, she gently exerted her Semblance on the metallic disk.  
  
Slowly, much more slowly than Pyrrha's liking, her shield rose into the air, lifting her with it. She faltered a tad in response, the metal disc wobbling beneath her, but kept a steady hold on it, rising ever further. One, two, three feet off the ground.  
  
About fifteen seconds to go by her counting, and Pyrrha grinned broadly. Oh yeah. She was gonna make it. A brace – against nothing in particular – and a wave of her hand, and Pyrhha's shield shot forward at speeds comparable to a certain red-headed cookie monster she could name, if only barely. Pyrrha lurched back slightly, but kept her balance, screaming joyous tidings into the wind.  
  
It was shortest thrill ride Pyrrha had been on – within a few seconds, her shield hit the front door, and she realized she was very lucky those doors opened _inwards._ Gritting her teeth against the impact, Pyrrha rolled with it, allowing her forward momentum to deposit her directly in front of her classroom doors. She waited a brief moment for her shield to roll in next to her, grabbed it, and placed it back where it belonged, ignoring the fact that technically it was supposed to be back in her locker at the other side of school.  
  
Finally, unbending from her kneeling position, Pyrrha turned to the door and opened it, walking through with a confident smile on her face. At exactly the same time, the bell rang, signifying the beginning of class.  
  
“Ah, Ms. Nikos,” Professor Port intoned, or perhaps “baritoned”. “Glad you were able to join us.” He raised an eyebrow and half his bushy mustache went along for the ride. “Are those your weapons on your back? That's against school policy, young lady.”  
  
“Sorry,” Pyrrha responded, though judging by the smile she wasn't quite feeling it.  
  
“Hmm. Well, considering your exemplary performance in my class, I suppose we can overlook it just this once. Just so long as you put your things away before the start of your next class!”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Pyrrha responded, adding in a quick bow before she rushed up into the stands. Seats, technically, but according to most of his students, the only interesting times in Professor Port's class were when he let the Grimm out to be slaughtered. And the stands were packed, now, what with all the foreign students visiting Beacon in preparation for the tournament at the end of the year. In fact, they were so packed that both Pyrrha's usual spot and her back-up spot were full of student bodies. That just left . . .  
  
“Pyrrha! Over here!” Jaune whisper-shouted, the antithesis of subtlety. A row below him, Blake glowered up at him with a look that could have very well killed, but thankfully he wasn't looking at her at the time. “I saved you a spot!”


End file.
